I'd grown used to Caroline as my personal assistant. No matter what time, day or night, weekday or weekend, holiday or goddamn family funeral, she replied immediately. I said jump, she said how high. I said work overtime, she said how long. I said fuck, she said which position, sir.
So far from this new assistant I'd gotten nothing but silence. All I knew was that she would be there to pick me up from the airport. She had yet to reply to any of my emails regarding files I needed pulled, reports I needed aggregated, documents I needed bound and distributed to board members. And that was just the tip of the iceberg.
My fingers flew over the little keyboard, sending in quick succession several emails to my new assistant, whose first impression was certainly lacking. Even after those there were several more that needed sending. I was halfway through the next one when I realised that I'd forgotten about the flight attendant crammed into the tight space of the bathroom stall with me.
I raised my eyes from the small screen of my Blackberry to find the woman with her arms crossed, glaring at me. I frowned at her in confusion. "Yes?"
She tapped a toe of her tall heel.
"I'm starting to think that you're just using me," she said.
I stopped myself from saying what first came to the tip of my tongue, “No shite, Sherlock.” But just barely. I did my best to keep my frustrated sigh to myself. Normally I'm pretty good at picking the women who wanted what I wanted: a fast fuck, an even faster goodbye. I avoided the ones who might get the wrong idea, those who entertained silly notions like sentimentality, feelings, “real connections”.
I'd assumed that when this woman leaned across the counter it was an intentional move to press her tits higher in her bra so I could see them straining against her skin-tight blouse. I'd assumed that meant her body was open for business. I'd assumed we could both be adults and handle this business proposition as such.
I forced a smile.
This happened sometimes. Sometimes you had to make them feel wanted. Sometimes you had to make them feel desired. Sometimes you had to make them feel like a rough fuck in a goddamn bathroom stall was the start of a fairy-tale romance.
In other words, sometimes I had to lie.
"Is that what you think?" I asked, my voice dark, alluring, like the dangerous rattle of a snake in the bushes.
She was pouting, her bright-red lips pushed out like a fucking child. She nodded and in a whining voice said, "Yeah. That's what it seems like to me."
I subtly glanced at my wristwatch. Still thirty minutes before the earlier flight to New York boarded. There was still time to make this work, I thought. There was still time to make the flight attendant…pliant.
I approached her in the small space, moving to stand in front of her, loom over her. I placed a hand on either side of her freckled face.
"Is that what it seems like?" I asked softly.
Her eyes dilated, pupils widening as she bit her lip and nodded up at me. "Yeah."
"Is that what this seems like?" I asked as I slowly lowered myself to my knees in front of her.
She shivered as my fingers started to run along her ankles. But the unwanted memory of sea glass bracelets, tiny and delicate and smelling of salt water and sunshine, made me pull back my hand as if I'd been burnt. I shook my head to clear it and instead shoved the girl's skirt up to her hips in one quick movement; she gasped.
"Do you still think I'm using you?" I whispered up to her as I wiggled her red lace thong down her legs.
"Maybe," she said, running her palms over her straining, hard nipples.
I smirked up at her. "How about now?" I asked before exhaling against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, gripping her legs with both arms.
She exhaled shakily and let her head fall back against the wall, sagging slightly against it.
"You might be able to change my mind," she sighed, fingers moving to card annoyingly through the hair I just fixed.
I told myself it didn't matter. I'd have a whole international flight to fix it in thirty minutes if I got her to put me on the earlier flight. I just had to focus. My mouth was moving toward the flight attendant's wet pussy when a knock sounded at the bathroom door. Her eyes opened and she glanced down at me with worry. I grinned up at her wickedly.
"Busy," I shouted before burying my face between her legs.
I had a flight to catch.
Abbi
Nothing starts a Monday morning off like an inbox exploding with pestering, incessant, rude emails from some international lawyer douchebag who gives his very detailed and very pain-in-the-ass lunch preferences before something as simple as his name. Each email read like a demand list from a hostage taker, signed just –M. Needless to say, I was just thrilled, absolutely thrilled to be spending the next several weeks with this asshole.
"Z, baby, you need to get up," I called from beneath the covers as I scrolled through the seemingly endless mountain of emails. "Sandra's going to be here in an hour to take you to school."
Landing this
